


R & R (Risk and Ruination)

by fishingclocks



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Yuuri and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, entirely non-sexually i can assure you, language warning, nudity warning, they just love each other and sometimes?? you need a relaxing bath in which to pass out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/pseuds/fishingclocks
Summary: On the floor by Yuuri’s bed, there is a forlorn little beep, as Yuuri receives his fifteenth unanswered notification of the morning.One of them from his fiance.One of them reading ‘YUURI!! TAKE THE DAY OFF!!! YOU’VE BEEN WORKING HARD AND I LOVE YOU BYE’ followed by a copious amount of varying heart emojis.Going ignored, the screen goes dark.





	R & R (Risk and Ruination)

**Author's Note:**

> wow!!! the day has finally come!! 
> 
> so! this fic is in participation with the yuri on ice reverse bang (what is a reverse bang?? find out [here](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Reverse_Bang)!!!), and as such, the concept for this fic was not my own!! [drawnbyzack](https://drawnbyzack.tumblr.com/) takes the credit for that - i just filled in the boring bits in between.
> 
> (i was technically a pinch hitter, so i had absolutely no idea who i would be assigned to, and when i was faced with the choice of his prompt i swear the heavens rolled back in all their spleandor and i wept tears of undeserving joy.) hope i did you the credit you deserved!!!!!! <3

Because there is a god or equivalent malicious entity whose particular goal is to make Yuuri’s life the _most_ emotionally confusing case of whiplash, Yuuri wakes up most mornings to the paradoxically polarizing sensation of the alarm clock screeching in his ear, and Victor Nikiforov’s face buried into the crook of his neck.

The latter is all that usually stands between Yuuri and alarm clock murder, premeditated and without a single regret. Or at least, that’s what he’s sure Victor would say if Yuuri ever went through with it--most likely through eyes clogged with fake tears and barely-withheld indignant sobs--because Victor is ridiculous and anthropomorphizes random household objects.

Which, if Yuuri is being fair--which he always is, exclusively--he could understand, if the random household objects Victor was so insistent on empathizing with were _cute_ things, like popcorn machine, or the roomba, or the microwave--instead, he looks at their malfunctioning toaster and says ‘It’s just a little under the weather!’, or that one leg of the coffee table that Yuuri always stubs his toe on, and says ‘To be fair, darling, _you_ were the one that did the toe-stubbing,’ and smiles like he isn’t on a sex proscription for the next decade or so.

The bedside table--conveniently positioned on Victor’s side of the bed, just in case Victor’s presence fails to soothe Yuuri’s morning wrath and it ends up smashed against the wall, and also because Yuuri suspects he would just learn how to press the snooze button in his sleep--still shrieks its wake-up call, dual-toned and dissonant for peak annoyance.

Yuuri groans, and shifts underneath his mountain of covers. “Hey,” he says, shrugging the shoulder that Victor is currently holding hostage.

Victor snorts.

“Remind me to be very angry with you later.”

“Mm,” hums Victor, sounding far to amused for someone who barely has the fine motor skills to reach behind him and turn off the alarm without dislodging himself from their _somehow_ comfortable cuddling position. “Now why would I do _that_?”

“Because you wax poetic to anyone we meet that you’d give me _anything_?”

“Is it really giving if nothing _physical_ is involved?” Victor says, with a little wiggle.

"Was that supposed to be a double entendre?” says Yuuri, appalled.

Victor stretches languidly. “Anything can be a double entendre, if you try _hard_ enough.”

Yuuri stares at what he assumes, sans glasses, is their ceiling, and considers all the choices he’d made that have brought him here, to this moment. “At this rate I won’t even need a reminder, thank you Victor.”

“I live to _serve_.”

“Now that was just lazy,” Yuuri huffs. “What was I even _supposed_ to be mad about? Something about the toaster?”

“Darling, I thought you were supposed to be mad about me?”

“If that was another double entendre,” Yuuri warns, “I may not be responsible for my actions.”

“Sexy,” says Victor, and Yuuri can’t see anything right now beyond a vague blue-black blur, but he can just _hear_ the eyebrow-waggle there, and really, isn’t that just true love?

This is just how Yuuri’s life is, now. He gets up before the sun, tries to prevent imminent hypothermia with a growing collection of soft things--a majority of which are anonymous donations from fifteen-year-olds whose names rhyme with ‘cheerio’ and ‘rides jet skis’--that Victor has labeled ‘frankly concerning’ with a fond look that made Yuuri warm all on its own.

Once he’s convinced his soul to take up residence in his body again, Yuuri eats a light-but-protein-rich breakfast with his fiance, and walks to the rink with his fiance, and sure mornings are suffering and damnation, but he has a _fiance_ , so Yuuri figures it’s a pretty even trade.

Sure the early mornings don’t pair well with Yuuri’s particular brand of insomnia, but he can get through the day with a couple naps. And besides, before he rolls out of bed and turns on that sadistic lamp of his, Victor smooths back Yuuri’s atrocious bedhead and murmurs little Russian sentences that might as well be their grocery list for all Yuuri understands it, and… Yuuri had been making a point there, but really, it made itself.

 

* * *

 

That’s how the worst day of Yuuri’s life _technically_ begins--his fiance’s godawful alarm waking him up at the crack of dawn, and what Victor better _hope_ were apologies mumbled against what should have been the least sexy part of his anatomy imaginable.

(But it’s Victor. So, annoyingly, that wasn’t the case.)

(For either.)

(Apparently he was _not_ apologizing for the offensive hour at which his alarm shrieks its way through a daily resurrection like a time-accurate, infuriating zombie, and apparently, his fiance can make shoulders romantic and sexy.)

However, this really is a technicality. Because, traditionally, ‘your day’ begins when you get out of bed.

Yuuri’s sole consolation at the five o’clock hour, while his fiance runs about St. Petersburg like a madman, is that Victor’s departure means he has precisely two hours until his own--much more gentle and understanding alarm--politely suggests that Yuuri get his ass out of bed.

Yuuri quite likes his alarm. Instead of the fancy, actual clock that Victor has, with devastating accuracy and its inexplicable survival after so many of Yuuri’s carefully planned assassination attempts, Yuuri just uses his phone. Which he charges overnight, like a _normal_ human being under the age of 72.

(Victor’s phone is always dead in the morning. That’s what he’s getting at there.)

The sound Yuuri’s chosen is gentle chimes, blowing pleasantly in the breeze. Unless he needs to get on an early flight or something--then it’s upbeat, jazzy trumpet music, and Yuuri is propelled into getting up and shutting it off through sheer rage at Yuuri of the day before, who thought that that was a good idea.

The _point_ is, Yuuri’s alarm is solid, time-tested, and Yuuri-approved.

So when he rolls over and stretches, feeling well-rested and generally at peace with the world, he is _immediately_ suspicious.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri isn’t quite _lovely_ when he’s sleeping.

Of course, there are several caveats to that statement--one of them because Yuuri is _always_ lovely, in some fundamental way, and the rest because Victor really likes caveats; they always manage to turn Yakov such a pleasant shade of puce. So when Victor says that Yuuri isn’t quite lovely in his sleep, he means it in the sense that Yuuri’s hair gains sentient life, and his skin indents to shape of the wrinkles in the sheets, and his limbs are spread in the most delightfully peculiar formations. And it’s absolutely adorable.

Victor’s always known that he was meant to fall in love; always thought he’d be quite good at it. He’d always felt this deep capacity for love, and never had anything but skating to pour it into. So he had. With every gold medal, he’d felt the weight of a lack of reciprocation, had felt the end of his career encroaching and the uncertainty of what lay beyond, and had stood proudly on the podium, smiling and resigned. And then there had been too much champagne, and the boy with an entire world in his eyes, and ‘Ah,’ Victor had thought. ‘This is what loving feels like.’

He tries to tone it down, for the sake of Yuri and Yakov’s hair and Yuuri’s endearing embarrassment and his own, daily softening reputation. But here there’s no need for any of that. Yuuri isn’t quite lovely in his sleep, but that just makes these fragile mornings all the more precious; the rare, rare moments when his Yuuri is utterly human, as opposed to the gift from the gods that he is every waking moment. Michelangelo's David with the stone facade stripped away.

And dark rings under his eyes.

Victor frowns, and brushes a thumb over the offending discoloration. His Yuuri is a genius, and truly fantastic, but he’s been lifted out of any culture he’s familiar with, and planted somewhere utterly foreign, and even with the help of Duolingo and biweekly family Skype meals, Victor can tell that his fiance has been feeling the weight of the change.

Yuuri could use a break.

And in that moment, Victor is struck with the most brilliant idea he’s had since putting a YouTube video on a loop and looking into the price of non-stop flights to Japan.

He almost starts the long process involved in properly waking Yuuri to tell him all about his new, fantastic idea, but his phone makes a gentle noise, informing Victor it’s time to head off to the rink for the morning.

So Victor opens Yuuri’s phone for a little meddling, types out a quick text to him, hits send, and kisses both the loves of his life goodbye--one more aware, furry, and wet-nosed than the other--before he leaves for a day at the rink, confident that he has been a Good Fiance, and eager to brag _all_ about it to Georgi.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck,” says Yuuri, scrubbing sleep and an eyelash out of his eyes. “Fuck!” he says, and is thankful that Victor is nowhere to be found, because he would be covering Makkachin’s ears and whine about cursing in front of the children.

He’s two hours late. How is he _possibly_ two hours late? How did he _ever_ sleep past all his alarms? There are _fifteen of them_!

Yuuri would love to spend the rest of the day just trying to answer that question, but Makkachin is whining at the foot of the bed, and Victor is probably worried _sick_ , and for all he knows the world could be on the brink of one apocalypse or another, so he throws his phone onto the bed in disgust, and scrambles for some sort of St. Petersburg-appropriate clothing.

Despite the piles of clothes on Yuuri’s side of the bedroom floor, washed and simply waiting to be stuffed into the proper drawers, Yuuri can find nothing that fits except a thin black athletic shirt that never should have made the move from Japan, and ill-fitting sweatpants, and really it’s all he can do to remember his glasses.

Makkachin, sensing Yuuri’s frantic activity, is very excited, and hops in ecstatic circles around him while Yuuri tries to tame his hair into looking remotely respectable. And fails.

“Makka baby,” Yuuri croons, because he is alone and as in love with Makkachin as Victor is, at this point, “we need to get you to the babysitter, don’t we?”

Makkachin yips in response, and nudges Yuuri’s leg as if to say ‘Yes, we needed to do that a while ago, but you are my human’s human and I love you anyway.’

Yuuri desperately appreciates it.

Grabbing Makkachin’s leash and vaguely flailing at his face to make sure his glasses are actually there, Yuuri stumbles out the door, already rehearsing ways in which to salvage this wreck of a day.

 

* * *

 

On the floor by Yuuri’s bed, there is a forlorn little beep, as Yuuri receives his fifteenth unanswered notification of the morning.

One of them from his fiance.

One of them reading ‘YUURI!! TAKE THE DAY OFF!!! YOU’VE BEEN WORKING HARD AND I LOVE YOU BYE’ followed by a copious amount of varying heart emojis.

Going ignored, the screen goes dark.

 

* * *

 

Victor is having a fantastic day.

He’d woken up next to his gorgeous fiance, gotten slightly worried for said gorgeous fiance’s health, and fixed the problem with flair, all before he’d even left the apartment. So when he gets to the rink, Victor kicks the doors open in a practiced move, and waltzes over to where his rinkmates are lounging about and ever-so-slowly gearing up for the day. The early mornings are a free-for-all of gossip, and Victor’s practically glowing with the force of his particular news.

Before he’s even reached the group, Yuri groans so dramatically Victor might feel a little proud, and says “Yeah you’re in love, yeah Katsuki’s a god among men, if you _don’t talk about something else--_ ”

Victor spreads himself out along a bench across from Georgi, and, ignoring Yuri’s protests, says “I’ve had the most _wonderful_ morning.”

Mila rolls her eyes, quite offensively. “Is this the normal Victor ‘Life is wonderful’, or did something actually interesting happen today?”

Victor deigns to respond, because while Mila doth protest, she always does it with a palpable amount of amusement. Victor likes being amusing. He was never amusing to anyone other than reporters and socialites before Yuuri. “Every moment with my Yuuri is wonderful!” Victor says, noting with a wink Yuri’s aggravated shout and Georgi’s pained look. “But yes, this morning _is_ special.”

Georgi, with the masochistic interest that amuses Victor so much, says hesitantly, “How?”

Yuri, from the place he’d starting burrowing into with his phone as soon as Victor walked in, asks “Where is Katsuki, anyway?”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is _not_ having a fantastic day.

“I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling well,” he says to Makkachin’s dogsitter, Tatiana. “Do you need any meals? Between Victor and I, we know more comfort food recipes than we know what to do with.”

Tatiana brings a tissue to her nose, sneezes, and says “That’s so kind of you! Oh, you and Victor are my favorite clients.” She reaches down and pats Makkachin on the head. “I’m so sorry I can’t take Makkachin today!” She then sneezes again, this time pulling out a tissue just a moment too late.

Yuuri’s already walking away. “Get well soon!” he tries to call over his shoulder, but Tatiana seems to have fallen into a sneezing fit, and honestly he doubts she hears it.

“Well shit puppy,” he says under his breath. Makkachin seems a little confused, but _very_ excited at this sudden change in routine. “I guess I’ll just have to take you to the rink with me today, hm?”

Yuuri takes a couple more hurried steps, then pauses. Makkachin take the opportunity to start sniffing a suspicious crack in the sidewalk.

“Did I actually volunteer to cook for her?”

Makkachin looks up, eyes commiserating.

“Do we have _any_ food in the fridge right now?”

Makkachin’s still looking at him, tongue now lolling out as if to say ‘Yes, that was a little silly of you, wasn’t it?’

“We absolutely don’t, do we.”

Makkachin goes back to sniffing the sidewalk.

Yuuri forgets he’s wearing glasses, smudges them in an attempt to rub his eyes, and sighs. “Let’s go to the store, then.”

As they begin to walk away, Makkachin whines at being forced to stop investigating, and Yuuri relates a little too much.

 

* * *

 

“Your genius plan is just… telling him not to work today?”

Victor pauses, looks up at Mila. “What? Too simple?”

“No,” Mila shrugs, “I was actually _impressed_ that it was that simple. Knowing you, I expected some sort of grand gesture. Not that Yuuri wouldn’t probably like it--you picked the only person who could ever match your flair for the dramatic.” She smirks. “Besides little Yuri.”

“Shut up,” Yuri mutters half-heartedly, because after his Grand Prix exhibition there’s no use in denying it.

“Aw, he’s _blushing_!”

“ _Mila_ ,” Victor whines, “this is _serious_! Do you really think it wasn’t dramatic enough? Will Yuuri be disappointed?”

Yuri scowls and mutters, “Do you actually listen to yourself when you speak?”

Mila shrugs. “It’s _Yuuri--_ he won’t be disappointed. I was just surprised at how… domestic it was.”

Ooh. Victor pauses at that; smiles to himself.

Yuri retches. “God Mila, _stop-_ -you’re making it worse!”

Georgi lets out a broken-hearted sigh.

Victor, high spirits renewed, coos too-innocently in Georgi’s direction. “Don’t worry Georgi,” he says, gesturing vaguely. “I’m sure _someday_ you’ll find sweet domesticity of your own!”

Their conversation is interrupted by a series of slamming doors--Yakov enters the rink already yelling. “If I don’t see every single one of you on the ice in the next 60 seconds I’m going to flood the local news with every piece of blackmail at my disposal!”

“Fucking _finally_ ,” says Yuri.

Victor hums under his breath, a smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. “ _Domestic_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri has little to no regrets about moving to St. Petersburg with Victor. Who is his _fiance._

(Sometimes Yuuri has to take off the ring and just look at it for a while. He recites all the events that lead up to this point, reasons them with himself, and verifies that yes, this is either objectively happening or the most cruel dream ever conceived.)

Living with Victor is not quite so different as he’d thought it would have been--all those days ago, when their relationship was so _new_ and they hadn’t even kissed, and Yuuri had allowed himself to sit in his room in the dark just _imagining_.

Because really, they’d been cohabitating the entire period of their relationship. In Hasetsu, they had learned each others’ likes and dislikes; their favorite food, color preferences, what types of people they more often than not both found to be annoying. There had still been stars in Yuuri’s eyes then, because this was _Victor Nikiforov_ in little old Hasetsu, training him in skating one breath and complaining about a broken nail the next. Yuuri had gotten used to the idea of Victor being _human_ in his family’s hot springs.

Then they’d started on the road, and before he’d known it, Yuuri had gotten used to Victor being _there._ There were suddenly nightly routines, little rituals that Yuuri was not only aware of but a _part_ of. When they met a rude person that they both instantly hated, instead of talking about it later, they would just make annoyed eye contact and try not to laugh. To avoid Victor complaining about the broken nails, Yuuri started painting them on the weekends. Sometimes they _matched._

So yes. Moving in with Victor had been _thrilling_ (Victor’s grin that never went away for days and unpacking boxes and filling the empty, sharp corners with sentimental ornaments and _Yuuri’s_ _things_ ) and also slightly horrifying (sitting in their suddenly _shared_ bed late at night and trying not to worry over how much has _changed_ and how much of it can last?), but there are very few things that Yuuri actually regrets about it.

One of those very few things is not knowing a single word of Russian.

Yuuri’s never been in this area before. Or possibly he has--there’s no way to _tell_ when every street sign besides the odd advertisement and American food chain is written in Cyrillic.

Grocery stores are, however, recognizable no matter what languages their signs are written in, so Yuuri steps into the first one he sees, and knows that _because_ this place was so recognizable as a grocery store, everything will most likely be overpriced.

At least they let him bring Makkachin inside. With the way this day has been going from miserable to _more_ miserable, Makkachin’s leash is a bit of a crutch at this point, and the dog’s cheery demeanor is helping Yuuri stay calm.

Yuuri grabs the ingredients for the golubtsy that Victor’s been talking about making for the past month, makes sure there’s enough for them _and_ Tatiana, and heads to the counter.

The clerk greets him in accented English, and Yuuri takes a moment to appreciate small blessings.

Stepping out of the store, Yuuri wallet is lighter, but the ingredient-purchasing went surprisingly well, so so is his mood.

He waits until there’s a lull in traffic, and cuts across the street to a bench. Yuuri sets down the bags, lets Makkachin sniff them inquisitively.

“Well Makka,” Yuuri says, “this has been quite the morning, hasn’t it?”

Makkachin licks a bag. The bag doesn’t lick back. Makkachin seems to be offended by this.

For a moment, Yuuri just lets himself look out at the street. There aren’t as many pedestrians in this area, out of the way of the tourist hustle and bustle--and those pedestrians that there are are quite obviously locals. They’re bundled in a plethora of scarves and heavy jackets, and Yuuri, in the clothes that he’d just managed to throw on before heading out the door, is incredibly envious. He wasn’t _built_ for this sort of weather.

Feeling decidedly less frantic, if much more cold, Yuuri decides he should finally get to the rink.

“Do you wanna go visit Papa?” Yuuri asks, scratching Makkachin’s ears. He takes the excited ‘Boof!’ he gets in response as a yes. “Okay, okay, just let me pull up the GPS and we’ll…”

Yuuri’s phone.

Is not in his pocket.

Incredible how quickly all the goodwill built up over the period of a half an hour can vanish into the ether.

 

* * *

 

After a surprisingly long period of actual skating, Mila sidles up to Victor (a surprisingly difficult feat on skates) and says, covertly, because Yakov already looks close to popping a blood vessel and it’s just past lunch, “You know, I don’t _actually_ think it’s bad that you didn’t have some elaborate plan, right?”

Victor hums, not quite sure how to respond to that for a while. “Do you think I’m slipping?”

Mila scoffs. “Yeah, no, I don’t think you’re in _any_ danger of that. It’s probably _healthy_ , that you don’t _need_ to like, communicate affection through grand gestures all the time.”

“True.” Victor taps his chin. “I’d probably run out of material in a month.”

Mila smirks, “Ooh, I’ve only got the material for about two more, you mind sharing?”

Victor holds up a hand. “I’m afraid not--grand gestures are something that must come from the _heart_ , crowd-sourcing isn’t allowed.”

“Yeah? I bet Sara and I can do a better dramatic kiss-and-cry than you two.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“You’ve already got it all planned out, don’t you.”

Victor sighs happily just thinking about it. “Of course.”

Pouting, Mila starts skating away before Yakov can notice her absence. “Spoilsport.”

“I’d still be willing to double-date!” Victor calls after her. The look Yakov sends him is the look of a man who is on the verge of contemplating murder. Victor salutes him, and gets back to work.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri has no idea what he’s doing.

“I have no idea what I’m doing, Makka,” Yuuri says. He’s absolutely been at this about an hour, not including the time spent buying cheap, terrible fast food for lunch, because the things he’d bought at the store were for dinner and their _sick dog-sitter._ He isn’t an animal.

Of course, for all Yuuri knows, it could be the middle of the night. It’s not like there’s much of a difference in St. Petersburg, and he can’t check the time because _he’d left his phone at the apartment that he can’t find._

He can’t even ask for directions, because like he’d noticed earlier, what little pedestrians there are in this neighborhood are locals, not tourists or business-people. There’s also the matter of how if Yuuri attempted to explain his predicament out loud he might cry actual tears of pure frustration and exhaustion.

Poor, poor Makkachin looks so cold and confused.

(Ah yes, Yuuri hadn’t even considered the cold. On second thought, he probably wouldn’t be able to cry--his tear ducts have definitely frozen over at this point.)

Yuuri feels like an absolute monster.

Has he seen this building before? Who knows.

Certainly not Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

“I did not think this plan through.” Victor says to no one in particular.

Apparently Yuri must have heard, however, because he scoffs, and says “And you’re actually _surprised_ by that?”

Victor pouts quite pathetically and says “I suppose I must suffer for my Yuuri’s day of relaxation.”

“You want me to ask how you’re suffering. I’m not gonna fall for that shit--”

“Any time spent out of my Yuuri presence is suffering!”

Yuri hits him on the arm, and it actually sort of hurts. Victor pouts harder. “You’re just repeating yourself now! Why are you still talking?!”

Victor hmphs. “I was just trying to fill the silence.”

“I will duct tape your mouth closed and not feel an ounce of regret.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“Hey, Victor!” Mila yells as she steps back into the rink, “You’ll never guess who I just saw!”

“You’re probably right, I’ll never guess,” Victor says. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

‘Like that’ in this case meant a mixture of confusion and smug amusement. Mila doesn’t have to explain any further, though, because right after her comes--

“Yuuri?”

Victor is quite startled. Yuuri’s skates are on, he’s making his way slowly toward him, and does he hear Makkachin?

“Hi,” Yuuri says, his voice thick with exhaustion, and Victor puts a gentle hand at his waist.

“Darling,” he says, because Victor is quite confused, and more than a little worried, and he’s never known how to deal with either of those emotions, “did you miss me already?”

Yuuri looks just as confused as Victor feels. “ _What_?”

“Why are you _here_?” says Yuri, and Victor would berate him for being rude, but he’s wondering the same thing. If in a more kind, lovesick tone.

Yuuri smiles, ruefully. “What, did Victor tell you I was _dead_? ...Actually, you know what, nevermind, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Yuuri,” says Victor, slowly, “let’s go over here for a moment, shall we?”

Yuuri sighs, leaning into Victor’s touch, and he allows himself to be lead to the side of the rink. “You’re being a little confusing, Vitya.”

“I think the feeling’s mutual. You look troubled, darling, what’s wrong?”

Yuuri laughs, and the sound is so brittle it makes Victor’s heart twist. “Victor, don’t pretend--I’ve missed an entire day of practice. Of course, none of it was really my fault, but it’s a little more than troubling.”

Suddenly, a terrible feeling dawns on Victor. “You didn’t get my text, did you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri leans against the side of the rink, frowning. “Sorry, I haven’t had my phone all day. Did something happen?”

Oh dear. This had turned into quite the mess, hadn’t it? “I’m sorry, Yuuri, this is all my fault. You’ve been looking so stressed lately, and I know things have been hard on you with the move, so I thought you deserved a day off, but I didn’t want to wake you up this morning--”

“So you turned off my alarms and left a message on my phone,” Yuuri says, slowly, sounding almost… relieved?

“Well…” Victor rubs the back of his neck. “Now that I think about it, I suppose the whole thing could’ve been… a little more planned out.”

Yuuri smiles. “Since when do we plan anything? I really don’t mind, Victor, that’s… pretty sweet, actually. But god do I have a story to tell _you_.”

Victor, slightly reassured, is struck by a bolt of fierce sentimentality, and his grin is almost definitely sappy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it. At home?”

“Yeah,” says Yuuri, “let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

art by [drawnbyzack](https://drawnbyzack.tumblr.com/)!!! | the [post](https://drawnbyzack.tumblr.com/post/162470015778/my-two-pieces-for-yurionicebigbang-and-my-half)

 

* * *

 

 Victor is _happy_ to show him how to make the golubtsy, and sad that Tatiana is sick, and on the whole appalled at what a terrible day Yuuri has had. While Victor works in the kitchen, Yuuri watches, and relates in detail the events of the day, and narrowly avoids getting splattered with various foodstuffs as Victor flails furiously with each horrible sentence. Once everything’s safely cooking, Victor gives Makkachin pets and praise for helping Yuuri through the day in his absence. He also apologizes _copiously_ . Yuuri spends several minutes just reassuring Victor that it actually _was_ a good idea--he _had_ been needing a little break--the execution had just been a little off.

“I can’t believe you had to eat _Teremok_ . That is _not_ how blini are supposed to taste, I promise.”

“I didn’t think it was _that_ bad. That might’ve been the highlight of the day, to be honest.”

Victor scoffs. Yuuri is plating some of the golubtsy while Victor gets out a plastic container for Tatiana’s share, and Yuuri thinks he is the only person that can _flounce_ while getting tupperware out of a cupboard.

“Darling, you are lucky I’m miserable at making blini--you’d be eating them properly for the rest of your life.”

Yuuri hums. “That sounds like a threat I can get behind.” Holding up the plates, he asks, “Where do you want to eat this?” secretly hoping that he won’t say ‘the table’ so Yuuri can keep his reputation as The Responsible One while also not having to sit in Victor’s uncomfortable kitchen chairs. He’s been meaning to have a talk with him about them--Victor feels that if furniture is aesthetically pleasing enough, you can _make_ it comfortable; Yuuri’s back begs to differ.

Victor pretends to consider for a moment, but the gleam in his eye tells Yuuri that he knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Why don’t you take those over to the couch, hm? I’ll finish packing up Tatiana’s food.”

Yuuri does just that, setting the food on the coffee table and settling back into the couch with a comfortable sigh.

He isn’t aware that he’s fallen asleep until he startles awake. Victor is...setting down the plates again? and Yuuri raises an eyebrow, not quite cognizant enough to form the question he wants to ask.

Victor’s smile is painfully soft, and Yuuri has the strong urge to kiss it. Too bad he’s part of the couch now.

“Oh no!” says Victor, tone playful. “Shall I have to rescue you from the couch’s cruel clutches, darling?”

Turns out he’s cognizant enough to say things, just not voluntarily.

With immense effort, Yuuri manages to sit up a little bit, and says, “Mm, what happened?”

Victor laughs. “You fell asleep. Impressive, really--you’d only just sat down when I found you like that. So I left you with our fierce guard dog, and took Tatiana her golubtsy. Though it seems that plan may have failed, seeing as you’re now the couch’s captive.”

“Hmph,” says Yuuri, knowing he’s being teased and wanting to not be in the mood to tease back. Too bad Victor just manages to spark that mood simply with his presence. “I dunno about ‘captive’--whoever said I even wanted to be rescued?”

Victor sits down next to Yuuri, cuddling up and handing him his surprisingly-warm plate--he must have microwaved them. “That’s just the Stockholm Syndrome talking.”

And they just… exist, for a few minutes. They eat, and snark, and in one particularly notable instance Victor feeds Yuuri and it ends up a disaster, so then of course they laugh, and… they exist.

Quite comfortably, in fact. Until Makkachin, tempted by the food on the couch because of the recent incident, and a little spoiled from a day full of Yuuri lavishing attention while wandering the streets of St. Petersburg, hops onto the couch, and the remaining golubtsy ends up on all three of them.

After the initial yells of surprise, neither Yuuri nor Victor can seem to have it in their heart to be mad at Makkachin, so they just descend into another fit of helpless giggles. Yuuri has golubtsy in his hair, and he can feel Victor’s laughter from where his head rests on his fiance’s chest, and he’s filled with the sort of warm contentment that had always seemed to evade Yuuri before.

When they’ve finally calmed down, and Makkachin has moved on to greener pastures in the kitchen, Victor takes in a breath like he’s planning what he’s about to say, and Yuuri looks up at him, waiting.

“Well,” he finally says, lazily. “I suppose there’s only one thing left to do, now.”

“Of course,” says Yuuri. “And what might that be?”

 

* * *

 

A bath is _exactly_ what Yuuri had needed. There are moments in which Victor is a genius in something other than skating, and Yuuri catalogs them meticulously. This is one of those moments.

Yuuri would let Victor know about this, but he thinks that that _might_ be considered sappy, and he doesn’t want to deal with the fallout of such an admission after such an emotional day--there is no guarantee that there wouldn’t be tears.

Instead, Yuuri leans against Victor’s back, starts running the water, and says, “So many candles? Victor, have we forgotten about fire safety again?” and Victor _laughs_.

Yuuri loves making Victor laugh.

“What is fire safety when compared to romance, Yuuri?” There’s that eyebrow waggle again--how can he tell without Victor eve turning his head?

“Quite a lot, actually. Without fire safety we die, Victor. Is death romantic?”

“ _Well_ ,” says Victor, and Yuuri shuts him up by pulling Victor’s shirt over his head. They turn taking their clothes off into some sort of contest of who can do it with the most over-the-top aggression--Yuuri wins in a landslide. By the time he’s finished laughing at _that_ bit of ridiculousness, the water is ready, and he and Victor slide into the bath.

There is quiet for a moment, and then, because Victor doesn’t loathe silence but he doesn’t like it either, says “I’m a little concerned about your definition of romance, Yuuri.”

Yuuri leans his head back on Victor, and smiles. “Is this because I don’t consider _death_ to be romantic? I think I’m a little worried about yours, Vitya.” Yuuri takes in the atmosphere around them. He does have to admit that, fire safety aside, there is something a little magical about the candlelight. It plays off of the water and the windows of the bathroom, and off the sheen of the bathwater on their skin. Recognizing this feeling, Yuuri hums, and turns to look up at Victor. “I guess we’re about to test our definitions, here--I’m falling asleep again, Vitya.”

“I won’t let you drown in your sleep, darling,” says Victor.

Yuuri laughs. “Now _that’s_ the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

 

* * *

 

art by [drawnbyzack](https://drawnbyzack.tumblr.com/)!!! | the [post](https://drawnbyzack.tumblr.com/post/162470015778/my-two-pieces-for-yurionicebigbang-and-my-half)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!!! again, here is [drawnbyzack's](https://drawnbyzack.tumblr.com/) art blog - shower him with the love and affection he deserves!!!!!!! and [here](http://fishingclocks.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr as well, if you're so inclined.
> 
> and hey!! if you feel like it, maybe tell me what you thought? i'd love to hear it!!!!! <33


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